


A Summer Visit

by Johns_Farthings



Series: Studies in Domesticity [1]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Domesticity, F/F, Fluff, Henry being clueless, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johns_Farthings/pseuds/Johns_Farthings
Summary: There was nothing sinister about Arabella’s living situation. That was what Henry Woodhope told himself when he visited Ivy Cottage in the late June of 1820.





	A Summer Visit

There was nothing sinister about Arabella’s living situation. That was what Henry Woodhope told himself when he visited Ivy Cottage in the late June of 1820. It had been three years since the disappearance – death, some said – of Jonathan Strange, and understandable that she should move on. People could hardly shake their heads and say the thing was too hasty.

Still.

 _I would have thought you’d had quite enough of magicians_ , Henry had replied in his letter, when she wrote to tell him that she was moving to Yorkshire.

 _He is a quiet sort of magician_ was the only mention she made of it in her response.

That, Henry thought, was most definitely true. Sitting in Starecross Village, looking across at John Segundus, headmaster of The Starecross Academy of Magic, it was clear that he was far from wild or odd or even remotely like Jonathan Strange. He perched on the edge of the sopha like a guest in his own home, and smiled nervously whenever Henry caught his eye.

The cottage was respectable, and of a good size. The decoration was clearly Arabella’s doing, simple but elegant, and the living room filled tastefully with furniture and rugs and decorations. There were many books, some on shelves, some on the tables, and though plenty were of or about magic, there were newspapers and novels too. Certainly there was no sign of anything like the magical contraptions Strange used to scatter around Ashfair.

All in all, then, nothing sinister. Apart, perhaps, from Lady Pole, seated in the corner and watching – no, _staring_ – at him. She hadn’t said a word since he arrived, treating him like an intruder rather than Arabella’s brother, not to mention the rector of such a respectable parish as Great Hitherdon.

She didn’t even sit like a lady, slumped in one of the chairs and tapping her foot against the fireplace, but perhaps he was being unkind. Everyone knew of Lady Pole, and knew that she was odd. Or at least, they knew a Lady Pole of years ago, brought back to life and declared mad and finally freed from a terrible enchantment. After that, Lady Pole vanished from London society – and from the company of her husband. Papers speculated, but soon lost interest, just as they came to lose interest in Arabella’s strange reappearance.

Henry was one of the few people who knew that Arabella had gone to live with Lady Pole, in some distant house of Sir Walter’s near Lincoln. At the time, he had not been surprised – a friendship had long-existed between the two, and only been strengthened by their association with magic and days spent in Faerie. The houses in Shropshire and London had vanished, and Arabella needed support – even if it was female support – whilst trying to get Strange’s affairs in order. The magician had left everything in a terrible mess, as was his way. But now, here Arabella was, with a new gentleman and a new house rather smaller than the one in Lincoln, and here Lady Pole still lingered.

Perhaps Arabella had no choice. It was known that Sir Walter and Lady Pole had been estranged for years. She had no friends, and no family that she was on speaking terms with. Poor Arabella probably felt obliged to keep her company in what way she could.

‘So, Mr Woodhope.’ Mr Segundus smiled. He took no notice of Lady Pole – or at least seemed not to be bothered by her presence. ‘Tell me about Great Hitherdon. I have heard you are the rector there?’

Henry relaxed. His parish was something he understood. It was quiet and highly respectable, far away from any magicians, schools of magic or Lady Poles slouched in corners. He was halfway through his best story – the one about Mr Henshaw and the cow that got loose on the road by the church – when there was a great clatter in the hall and a man strode into the room.

‘Excuse me?’ Henry said, startled – the man looked like a servant, though he walked with a rather arrogant step, and he’d clearly been riding. His long hair was dark and ragged, streaked grey at the parting.

‘Pardon me,’ the man said, a wry smile turning up the corner of his mouth. Henry bristled – there was something infuriating about that smile, the way he stood in the middle of Arabella’s living room like he owned it. ‘I didn’t know we had company.’

Mr Segundus looked like he was going to say something, but the man tipped his hat, turned, and strode out, leaving a dusty streak on the carpet from his boots.

Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘Well – who on earth was that?’

‘Oh, you need not concern yourself,’ Arabella said, taking a sip of her tea. She seemed quite unruffled. ‘We are used to him.’

Henry spluttered, but Arabella leaned forward and offered him a cake, and he knew better than to argue with her when her jaw was so firmly set. There was a small stable at the back of the house – for Mr Segundus, no doubt, who must have to ride on business – and the man was probably a groom of some sort. That would explain the boots.

* * *

‘How did you meet Mr Segundus?’ he said, when Arabella escorted him to the door. Mr Segundus had stayed in the living room with Lady Pole. ‘You never said in your letter.’

Arabella shrugged. ‘Emma wanted very much to come to Yorkshire again, and we decided to visit the new school – it would have been odd not to, especially as John had been so good with his biography of…of Jonathan.’

Henry blinked. Until he heard Arabella say it, he hadn’t made the connection – Strange had been Jonathan, always, never John.

Still. It was a common name.

‘We stayed for a few days and, well…’ Arabella smiled. ‘You understand how these things work, Henry.’

Henry didn’t understand. He had a wife – a handsome, steady woman who he had affection for. But he would not have moved to Yorkshire for anyone, let alone her. And Segundus was so _different_ to Strange – a nervous, fluttering sort of man who fidgeted with his collar and sleeves and blushed when Henry shook his hand.

‘But Arabella…’

‘The place in Lincoln was far too big for us, Henry, you know that, and the town was full of people who stared and asked questions because they knew the house was Sir Walter’s, rather than our own. Yorkshire is a beautiful place. I feel so much better here.’

Henry blinked. She did look better. She’d gained a little weight – not enough to be unladylike, of course, but she had looked rather pale and drawn when he’d last seen her in Lincoln. And though Segundus was a magician, and though Lady Pole _was_ in the house, there was really no help for either of those things. The living room was clean and respectable, and Segundus seemed kind, if nothing else. Besides, he had been genuinely interested in Great Hitherton, which raised him somewhat in Henry’s views.

At least Yorkshire was far away from his parish, and Arabella was discreet.

‘You should be married,’ he said, a nod to his propriety, his profession, ‘I know that the circumstances are not easy, but if you are serious about living up here…’

‘Henry, I have never been more serious about anything else in my life.’ Arabella sighed, and he recognised that look from their childhood, a quiet, sad exasperation. ‘But you know that it is impossible. I am still legally married to Jonathan. Until a body is found…’

‘I know, but…’

‘The people in the village understand – it is a technically, that is all. Mr Segundus and I are married in all but paper, I promise.’ She patted the front of his coat. ‘You would not want me to be unhappy, Henry? Can you bear the scandal?’

He sighed. ‘Truly, if you are discreet, I do not think there will be much of one. The papers hardly mention you anymore, except to say that you were Strange’s wife.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you will be happy.’

He kissed the top of her head – for all her scandal, was still his sister. Perhaps he was grateful that Yorkshire was a long way from Great Hitherton, but he was also grateful that she had not died in that cold bed in Ashfair, a long time ago. Arabella smiled, wished him well and waved as he made his way down the garden path. As he passed the gate, he caught a glimpse of the surly stable-hand leaning against the wall and picking at his teeth with a grubby fingernail. The man stared at him boldly, and Henry found himself looking away.

At the crest of the hill, he turned his horse and looked back. Arabella was still at the door, waving, and Mr Segundus was next to her, one hand on her shoulder. He was not even quite as tall as her, but if Arabella had chosen him, Henry supposed that he would have to do.

* * *

That evening, when the summer darkness fell and the living room was sweet with air coming through the open window, Arabella Strange, John Segundus, John Childermass and Emma Pole sat around a low fire with tea and bread, eating supper.

Only, they did not sit as one would have thought. One would have expected, perhaps, that Segundus and Arabella would sit next to each other, with Lady Pole opposite, and Childermass…well, the figurative observer might not have placed him there at all. But this was not the case. Childermass slouched on the big armchair, his stockinged feet set upon a small stool. Mr Segundus perched on the arm of the chair, his shoulder pressed against Childermass’s, and his arm trailed loosely around Childermass’s waist. Emma stretched out on the sopha, which she had pulled rather lopsidedly closer to the fire, her legs in Arabella’s lap so that Arabella could rest her sewing on her ankles. Childermass had a large toasting fork and was lazily turning a thick slice of bread over the fire to brown it.

‘I am sorry,’ Segundus said, ‘I never was a very good actor.’

Emma snorted. It was a sound that she had perfected since she had refused to live with her husband, or polite society in general, and no longer had to maintain ladylike habits.

‘Henry will not notice,’ Arabella said, bringing her sewing closer and frowning. ‘He does not see anything that he does not want to. You know, I think he mistook Mr Childermass for our butler.’

Childermass grinned. ‘Let him.’

He plucked the toast off the fork, buttered it and handed it to Emma. She ate it without sitting up, getting butter on her nightdress.

Arabella rolled her eyes. ‘I think you are the messiest eater I have ever known.’

‘No,’ Segundus said, ‘you _have_ met Vinculus.’

There was a moment of silence, and then Arabella sighed. ‘Yes. You are right.’

‘Of course he is.’ Emma wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. ‘John is always right.’

Segundus went bright red. ‘Now, of course I am not always-’

‘Oh, shut up.’ Childermass said, leaning up and kissing Segundus’s cheek.

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Tell him to stop, Bell. They are quite disgustingly in love.’

‘Stop it,’ Arabella said, without looking up from her sewing. Childermass laughed.

‘Where is Vinculus anyway?’ Emma said.

‘I left him at Starecross,’ Childermass said, ‘he prefers it there. Apparently, the village is too quiet, and there are richer pickings in the hall kitchens.’

‘I suppose it is best he stays away.’ Segundus took off his glasses, which he had been using to read, and rubbed his eyes. ‘I would not want anyone to see how our household is truly arranged. Besides…’

He trailed off with a yawn. 

‘Tired?’ Childermass said, smiling.

‘No. I am just…’ Segundus yawned again, and his jaw clicked. ‘That is…’

‘You’ve been working too hard whilst I was away.’

‘I have n-’

‘He has,’ Arabella said. ‘Go and make him get some sleep.’

Childermass got to his feet and rolled down his sleeves. ‘Bed for you.’

He took Segundus’s glasses in one hand, and his arm in the other, and pulled him towards the stairs. Arabella set her sewing aside and tapped Emma’s legs.

‘Sit up. You are making my knees numb.’

Emma lifted her legs and turned on the sopha.

‘I do not think your brother likes me.’

‘You did not give him much reason. You hardly said a word to him.’ Arabella sighed. ‘He has his faults, but…he is my brother. He must visit every now and then, and he will be here no more often than he was at Lincoln.’

‘You like it here, then?’

‘Do you?’

Emma nodded. ‘Yes. I did not mind Starecross, in comparison to London. And it is practical – no-one could suspect either one of us whilst you and John are carrying on your sordid affair.’ 

‘Sordid? John Segundus?’ Arabella stretched, got gracefully to her feet and went to turn over the fire, putting out with the cool ashes. She set the poker down and reached for the tea tray.

‘Oh, leave it.’ Emma sat up and put her hands on Arabella’s, pushing the tea things back down. ‘They can keep until the morning.’

‘But…’

‘Come on. Be wild.’ She got up and kissed Arabella’s forehead. ‘Besides, having your brother as company is exhausting.’

‘He is not that bad.’

‘I know.’ Emma put her arm around Arabella’s waist, squeezed. ‘Come to bed now – please?’

Arabella smiled and let herself be pulled away.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had the urge to write something about my favourite characters being really domestic together, without caring how unrealistic, out of character or historically inaccurate it might be – and here we are. This will probably be the first of a series of small pieces, but updates may be slow. I just really wanted to get this posted whilst I had time!


End file.
